Pearls of Great Price
by OrangeBlossom713
Summary: The Sacred 28 are changing up their matching strategy by bringing out an old tradition: The Season Sponsorship Lottery. Every eligible woman at Hogwarts will be sponsored at various levels for the social Season. The Order wants a deb on the inside, but of all people, they can't see beyond blood. How will Hermione survive? And how will Severus compete for her? Dark!Hermione.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

PROLOGUE

_Narcissa recoiled at the state she was in. The girl's hair was matted and unkempt, and she wore nothing against the April shower but a dirty nightgown which was quickly becoming soaked with rain, mud, and to Narcissa's horror, blood. Her hands clutched her belly desperately and she gave a wail of pain as she stretched her hand through the rails of the Manor gates._

"_Please! Help me, please!"_

_As Narcissa ran forward, there was a thunder of multiple Apparitions just a hundred yards away. The young woman looked behind her at the people who pursued her._

"_Miss Granger," the old wizard said coldly. "That will be quite enough."_

_As Narcissa lifted her skirts and broke into a full sprint, several of her houseguests doing the same and speeding past her, the girl screamed in agony and fear. _

"_It will be over soon, Miss Granger. This will be but a nightmare."_

_Hands reached for her._

"_SEVERUS!"_


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

ONE:

_FEBRUARY 22, SEVENTH YEAR_

Severus was seething. Absolutely seething.

How dare he? He had intentionally come to Dumbledore first because, of course, the man already knew. Oh, he'd sent word to the Dark Lord via Bookish to set up a meeting with the gist of the matter, but he had to talk to Dumbledore first. That blackguard, that scoundrel, that-that-_that Gryffindor_!

The documents stated it clearly. Since his cousin Exemplar's death three months ago, with no heirs legitimate or bastard having come forward in that time, he was the last blood in the House of Prince. As such, he was entitled to the vaults in Gringott's, the Prince seat on the Wizengamot, his place among the Sacred 28, and the title of Lord Prince. The only stipulation was that, according to Wizarding Law, he must be married in order to inherit the place among the Sacred 28. The 28 were composed of the old _families_ after all, and there was no point in allowing him in if he did not have anyone to provide for. That was the whole point. The traditions of the Wizarding World were based on family, and if he was to uphold the traditions, he must have one in the conventional sense.

"Headmaster, the Season starts on the first of May, the very day that the graduates head home from Hogwarts. I cannot go into this blindly, I need this upcoming Easter holiday and a few weekends in between to explore my options." He said, flushing scarlet. His hands were balled to his sides. He did not want to have to ask the Headmaster's approval on such intimate things. Because of the Headmaster, he had lost the only two women he had ever loved. He lost Lily because the Headmaster saw fit to orchestrate their failed friendship and turn him a spy, and his mother, because the beatings from his father had depleted her magical core and the Headmaster could not safely practice healing magic on a Squib.

He hated him. He hated the Headmaster more fiercely than he had hated the Dark Lord immediately after Lily's death. He hated him because he sought to destroy not only his life, but the lives of anyone who might oppose him or be more powerful. He was setting the son of his best friend up for failure, and he could not watch the boy die. So the let the Headmaster think that he was winning, let him think that Severus gave a damn anymore. He was done. The day he said 'I do' to whoever he married, he was done.

And the Headmaster knew that.

Which was why he was procrastinating, waxing whimsical on the lovely script of the Goblin in charge of the Prince accounts.

"Severus, you know you cannot marry." Dumbledore said finally, with false sadness, leaning back in his chair and popping yet another sweet into his mouth. "Lemon drop? No? Severus, we both know the likelihood of you surviving our victory. Why leave a widow behind, perhaps a child or stepchild, even if it is a platonic marriage? Why risk the complications of a family?"

"Headmaster-"

Dumbledore raised a hand to silence him, not even deigning to look the man before him in the face. "Severus you are young. Tom will be gone soon. If you survive, then you may marry. But until then, you are not, I fear, a free man. Hogwarts, and the Order, those are your wives. The students whom you protect are your children. That is all the obligation you need. All the _family _you need, despite what you may think. Take it from me Severus. Once you accept your place in the world, there is little need for anyone else's care or approval."

"Says the man whose philosophy is 'love conquers all.' Tell me Albus, which of our first years are we grooming and which are we slaughtering?"

"The youngest Mr. Pucey seems quite bright, but his house and family affiliations will not do us credit. There's a bright young man, Ulric Yates in Ravenclaw who will do well, I'm sure. And-"

"You're a sick bastard."

"No, I don't think I have a temperature. And I assure you," the blue eyes twinkled grotesquely, "_my_ parents were legally married."

That blow was below the belt. The Wizengamot had proclaimed that marriages in the Muggle world were legal now, if not publicized as such. His mother had received notice that her marriage was recognized as legal in the Wizarding World when he was nine. Still, most looked down on them because they were not magically binding.

With a raven wave of robes, Severus descended to his personal chambers. Even the ghosts, who could pass right through him if they chose to, swerved sharply to avoid his thunderous path. Everyone did, hurrying to their afternoon classes and out of his way, preferring any kind of course work over him.

Everyone avoided him. More than usual that is.

Everyone…save...one…

Granger, of course, had her button nose in a book. And was about to veer right into him. Without missing a beat, he put his hands on her shoulders. Startled doe eyes stared up at him. He rotated them around in a circle so that they were facing each other in the opposite direction of which they came.

"What book is it today, Miss Granger? _The Almanac of Brown-nosing,_ perhaps?"

"_Nickolas Nickleby_, actually, Sir." He raised his eyebrow. Rather comical for a girl of such sober taste in reading, wasn't it? "I finally managed to sneak my Charles Dickens and some other novels from home over the winter hols."

If he had intended to remark on her odd choice of words, he didn't get a chance to. With a smile and a shrug, she was dancing off down the halls, tossing a careless "have a good day, Sir," over her shoulder.

Frowning and making a mental note to investigate, he went into his office and gathered up his fourth year lesson plans. He would have to wait until tonight to visit the Dark Lord and the Malfoys.

At precisely two o'clock, the door to the classroom slammed shut, trapping Miss Weatherly by her robes, as he unleashed a storm of his frustration on them, as angry as Thor with a toothache.

Severus Snape was seething. Absolutely seething mad. And by dinnertime, everyone knew to avoid him-

Everyone…save…one. A doe eyed girl with her nose in a book.

And he didn't care if she did.

OoOoOoOoO

Severus allowed Bookish to instruct a fellow Elf on what to do with his cloak, top hat, and gloves as he was bowed into the dining room by a liveried Squib at precisely half-eight.

"Professor Severus Tobias Snape, Master of Potions," he announced.

"Thank you, Harvey, that will be all," Severus said quietly to the man. He had been one of his pupils a few years ago, and although he had no magic, he had proved himself capable in other ways, and his good attitude had helped him to secure a place in the Malfoy household as Head Footman, with high recommendations from the teacher who had made him his assistant.

"So good of you to join us, dear Severus," the Dark Lord said as Snape kissed the Slytherin Signet ring on his finger. "I was afraid that you would miss out on Narcissa's excellent hospitality."

"I apologize my Lord, I was detained by a staff meeting." Severus walked around the table to kiss Narcissa's cheek and clasp Lucius's shoulder. "I believe he picks the nights I am most disinclined to enjoy his company and that of the staff, and schedules a meeting."

"What did he want to talk about today?" Narcissa said as she signaled Harvey to send in the first course.

"A spring formal of some kind for the graduating Seventh Years, as well as a party for all the years preluding that by a few hours. He wants it on Easter, of all the days he could have chosen, and he wants everyone- staff included- to wear white ears and bowties."

"And, of course, he knows that nearly all of _our_ children will be out from Friday afternoon until Sunday night," Nicholas Greengrass growled, "as they are every year for our family gatherings and the Masses."

"He won't let them come home on Ash Wednesday or Palm Sunday, but the one day he does allow them to come home, he organizes a party to entice them to stay!" Lucius rolled his eyes at the old man's antics.

"My Theodore and Grete will be coming home, whether they want to or not," Lord Nott said resolutely. "I know that Grete is only eleven, and she may not understand why the Masses are so important now, but most of her friends will be there anyway. What is a few hours of foolishness compared to three days of family and friends?"

"Would that we could invite our children's friends," Eugenie Goyle sighed. "I know most of them will be there anyway, but it's enough of a battle to bring our own children home. Do you remember the first time the children saw the cathedral after it was reconstructed? I've never seen such big eyes!" She laughed.

"Speaking of cathedrals and masses- friends," following his gesture, they all bowed their heads. "For what we are about to receive, let us be truly grateful. Bless this food and the hands that prepare it as well as the ones who serve it. Allow we strong few to secure the world as inheritance for the meek- let this bounty make us strong. In faith and magic-"

"Amen," the all agreed.

Dinner was delightful, all around. The food was excellent, and the conversation was varied and plentiful.

"I had a most interesting conversation with Miss Hermione Granger, today."

"Oh? Potter's Muggleborn girl?" Narcissa asked.

"That's the one. A consummate bibliophile, through and through. Before she had friends, and now whenever she is being shunned by them, as is their wont towards her, she would walk around with her nose in a book. I can't count the times I had to snatch her away from stairs."

Narcissa wondered if he knew of the fondness in his eye when he spoke of the girl.

"Anyway, today she almost walked straight into me. Once I had her righted I asked her what book she was reading. She told me, and she said the strangest thing." He took a sip of wine. "She said that she had managed to _sneak_ some of her more loved novels back from over break."

"Why should she have to sneak books into her trunk?"

"I don't know, but I intend to find out. Either she has someone in the school who is intimidating her about her reading material, or there is something going on at home."

"Dumbledore has an aversion to Muggle literature, despite his insistence for integration. He was the same way when I was a student- he took away all of my Sherlock Holmes mysteries. Tell me, what was the material?" Tom Riddle asked.

"I believe that it was a work of Charles Dickens, my lord. _Nickolas Nickleby_, I believe."

"A rather comical book. It turned some heads too, with its emphasis on the unsuitability of Yorkshire schools in those days."

"Those days, those days- my Lord, you were hardly around to appreciate the conditions of such times as even your Grandfather Gaunt had not been born!" Rowle laughed.

"I'm flattered that you think me so young, Orlando."

Soup was eaten from a bread bowl, followed by salad, roast beef and a vegetable sauté, and tipsy summer pudding. Severus recognized several Squib students of his, including one most recently graduated.

As he waved her over to top off his wine, he turned and asked her quietly, "How are you, Miss Ingram?"

"Well, Professor, thank you," she smiled. "And it won't be Miss Ingram for long." Betsy Ingram smiled at her old Potions Professor. He was a harsh and unyielding man, but he had defended her more fiercely than her own Hufflepuff Head of House. Where others saw a "dungeon bat," she saw a stern but protective and kind uncle. "Otto Malkin proposed to me. I'll be married in a month."

Severus wasn't the least bit shocked. Otto Malkin, the stepson of Madame Malkin, was a charming young man; halfblooded, a tutor for Pureblooded families' younger children, not the best student but hardworking and honest. The Gryffindor would be good for the girl.

"My congratulations, Ms. Ingram."

"Thank you, Sir."

The food was eaten, and the so-called scraps went to the House Elves, as per usual. Narcissa usually ordered a ridiculous amount of food for her parties so that the House Elves could have a gathering of their own. The ladies retired to Narcissa's personal sitting room, talking of supposedly womanly things, while the men joined Lucius in the game room.

"What has your cousin's death yielded you, dear Severus?" Tom asked as he settled tiredly into one of the armchairs with a tumbler of brandy. The other men, noticing that this was their cue to step back, sat down to whist and gin rummy, or set to darts or billiards.

"I now possess the main Prince family vaults and shares in a few businesses. The Prince family has always been studious so I have a place on the boards of several universities, should I choose to accept them, and if I should like, I can have a teaching position there. The manor in Wiltshire, with its 100 acres, a brownstone in London, a plantation home in the Caribbean, and a brownstone in Berlin." Severus accepted a cigar and continued. "Even with Exemplar's poor money management and chronic gambling and whoring, he still managed to leave behind ten million galleons."

"You say that as though it is not enough for you!" Tom laughed, before the laughing turned into a bit of a coughing fit. "Ten million to a little Manchester boy with dirt on his face and a chip on his shoulder."

"Dumbledore demands access to the vaults."

The smile slipped from the Dark Lord's face, and a shadow seemed to fall on the room.

"You tell me that the Headmaster of Hogwarts, who nearly doubles his salary by siphoning from his own staff's pay and telling them it's living expenses, who has his sticky, lemon flavored fingers in every Ponzi scheme charity you can name…is demanding access to your personal vaults?"

"My Lord, I almost have him convinced that he cannot access the money- that _I_ cannot access the money until I officially claim lordship, which I cannot do until I am among the 28, which I cannot be-"

"Until you are married."

"Which he has already ordered me not to do." Severus grit his teeth. "And if he ordered me to, I would refuse. He has used and abused me for my entire adult life, I would not subject a wife or children, or even stepchildren be there any, to that."

"You are wise to bring this matter to me." Tom nodded and thought. "Are there any ladies whom you can think of who you would wish to marry? Quietly, no fanfare, just until you are free to make the public announcement?"

"My Lord, my circle of friends is small. I am confined to knowing the families present here, and their children. I could not marry the daughter of a friend, or even the relation of one. It would feel incestuous."

"So your only hope is the Season."

"Yes, my Lord. I'm sorry."

"Never fuss, never fuss," Tom waved his hand. "I have been thinking of the Season as much as anyone has. I think it is time for us to bring back an old tradition."

"Sir?"

"The Season Scholarship Lottery, of course."

Severus felt his eyebrows reach up into his hairline. The Season Scholarship Lottery was just that. The young ladies of Hogwarts were entered into three lotteries. The first was for the daughters of the Sacred 28, who needed no financial assistance. They would be taken to the homes of a select few foreign dignitaries to be schooled in the ways of the upper class overseas. The middle range was for upper class girls who had no wish to go overseas, or who had small budget and would like just a few nice things. These girls got a few high end dance lessons, maybe a few dresses, some etiquette lessons if required. And the lower girls who entered, those who had nothing, were given the whole kit and caboodle. Dresses, lessons, and in some cases, sponsors who would take her in like their own daughter (rare though this was). It was much the same for boys, but they rarely entered willingly.

"My Lord, this has not been implemented-"

"For nearly half a century, I know. No one has dared since Dumbledore took power. I would have implemented it once I had assumed full power, but we all know that in the end I was not in my right mind." Tom looked into the flames. "I know that you and most of my followers have forgiven me, Severus, but I can never say sorry enough."

"I pray that you will one day forgive yourself, My Lord. None of us blame you for such a tragedy."

"Anyway, to lighter matters." Tom waved away the thoughts of what had happened in the last year or so of his first life. "The Season Scholarship Lottery will be instated on the first week of March. You, of course, are not permitted to give input publically, but any opinions you have on which of the young ladies will be acceptable for which opportunities."

"I will be of as much assistance as I can, my Lord."

"Join me for a game of chess, Severus?" The Dark Lord pulled out an ornately carved chessboard.

"I would be honored, my Lord."

The Dark Lord shook his head. "For men to play and war, Severus, they must first be equals."

"In that case," Severus calmly set out his pieces, "prepare to have your arse handed to you, Tom."

OoOoOoOoO

Hermione was finishing rounds around two in the morning when she ran in to Professor Snape.

"What are you doing out of bed, Miss Granger?" The Potions Master growled.

"I'm sorry, Professor, the Prefect who was supposed to help me skipped out. I didn't want to leave the rounds unfinished."

"Mr. Weasley, I assume?" He didn't let her answer. "Never mind. Allow me to escort you to your room."

"Thank you, sir," Hermione said, surprised. She was so shocked that she slipped her hand into his proffered arm without thinking. "If I might ask sir, did you go out this evening? Was it pleasant?"

"I had dinner with friends, Miss Granger, and yes it was pleasant."

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself." Hermione smiled. She really was glad, too. She thought that the dour professor deserved some enjoyment.

Hermione was surprised by how quickly she and the Professor made it to the Head Girl's quarters. She bid the professor goodnight, and went inside to sleep.

She didn't see the Professor clenching and unclenching his hands.


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

TWO

_FEBRUARY 23, SEVENTH YEAR_

Hermione was packing up some extra parchment and quills when she heard Malfoy descend from his room. She took a deep breath and turned to face him.

"I heard that your father was broken out of Azkaban. Is that true?" She asked. In front of her was a copy of the _Prophet_, a five by five block of pictures depicting escaped Death Eaters. The escape had happened sometime in the last month, and only now was the public being informed. Malfoy, Dolohov, Bellatrix, Rodolphus, Rabastan, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, Avery, Greyback, and several others.

"What business is it of yours, Granger?" Malfoy hissed. "I didn't think you the sort to listen to rumors, _Head Girl_."

Hermione took a deep breath before she continued. "Well I hope that these rumors are true. No one deserves to be locked in that place, especially without a trial."

Malfoy stared at her. Hermione couldn't look him in the eye and instead focused on the serpentine green and gold pattern on the carpet. "It's taken me a long time to say this, and it's extremely difficult to, so please hear me out."

He didn't speak so she continued.

"I don't blame you for what happened last year. Umbridge was an abusive, oppressive woman, and if she had found you being soft, she might have hurt you or someone close to you to keep you I line. I saw you keeping her away from some first years who were Squibs. I know you aren't heartless. Mean and bitter sometimes, at least to me and mine, but not heartless. What Umbridge made you do went beyond schoolyard bullying, and even though you couldn't stand up to it, I know you didn't always want to do the things you did.

"Your father was at the Department of Mysteries. I know that, there's no denying. I saw him with my own eyes. I also saw him only using minor hexes and jinxes, because we were children. He was guilty, but he still deserved a fair trial. I'm sure that he was only doing what he had to. It isn't fair that you were not allowed to see him, or that he wasn't allowed to be in the court when they decided his fate. Even then, it shouldn't have been a life sentence.

"I just wanted to let you know that I forgive you, and ask you to tell your father the same, please. You have a clean slate with me, the both of you."

Hermione turned back to packing her bag, but before she could escape through the portrait in mortification, she heard a small voice ask her-

"How?"

"'Forgive our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us,'" Hermione said. "It isn't right to receive and not give."

"You know the Lord's Prayer?" Malfoy seemed surprised. "You know the Way?"

Hermione nodded, confused. "I'm Catholic."

"So are my family. Most of Slytherin, for that matter." Malfoy stood sheepishly in the middle of the room, his feet shuffling as his eyes darted to her and back to the floor. "Thank you. I didn't think I wanted or needed forgiveness, but I did. So thank you. I'll tell my father what you said." Draco shifted again. "Antonin Dolohov. He had been recently broken out of Azkaban and had to use his stepfather's wand. They didn't get along, he was an abusive man. He had only meant to hit you with a paper-cut jinx on you knuckles."

"I forgive him as well. I think I should tell him myself though, whenever that may happen." Hermione was thoughtful. "I'm having a harder time forgiving your aunt, but I know she isn't in her right mind. I've read several of her editorials and journals she published when she was younger. She was a brilliant woman. I don't know her well enough to make a judgment on her character, but I'm trying."

"There was an infection that afflicted the Dark Lord in his last year, before that Halloween. He had taken a Fortification Serum, and the ergot in it was out of proportion to the other ingredients."

"Ergot poisoning?" Hermione slapped her hand against her forehead. "No wonder all of his reasoning slipped downhill. Let me guess, he took Fortification Serum often, to keep up with everything he was doing and to keep himself together after all of the contact he had with Dark artifacts?"

"And because he had a connection to his followers, and some of them used the same potion-"

"The mental poisoning spread. Oh, Malfoy, I'm so sorry your family had to deal with that."

"It's alright, we're lucky it was only a handful of people. Most of the ranks got it, but only the ones allergic to the antidote were left untreated. They had to be weaned off of the potion. The Dark Lord was too volatile to get near at that point in time, and by the time we had found an alternative solution, it was too late."

"How awful." Hermione frowned. Ergot poisoning and magic. The Salem Witch Trials had been chaotic enough in a Muggle town. Ergot poisoning in a wizard or witch was a thousand times worse, forget it affecting an entire political party. A political party who included those raised around racism, bias, discrimination…and werewolves, and vampires, and giants…

"Aunt is getting better. It affected her pretty severely, as she was already a little off. Bipolar depression, and several miscarriages. Then, when she was finally able to carry a baby to term, her daughter- my cousin- died at only a few minutes, before she could even be christened. The Healers prescribed Fortifying Serum, and, well, you know the rest."

In the distance, they heard the seven o'clock bell ring.

"We'd best get to breakfast." They said at the same time. The two chuckled nervously as they stepped outside of the portrait into the empty hallway.

"I'll see you in classes, then?" Draco asked quietly.

"See you then." Hermione skipped off towards Gryffindor Tower to meet her friends.

OoOoOoOoO

Breakfast was not going according to Hermione's hopeful plans. Ronald was a boor, as usual. Harry smiled mutely on as Ginny and Lavender chirped like annoying little birds. Hermione was ignored.

It was alright, though, she had brought along a book. It was _Villette, _by Charlotte Brontë. She had read a review on it stating that many said that it was better than her _Jane Eyre_, and Hermione couldn't believe it until it was true. So far though, it seemed promising.

Two shadows fell over her. Professor McGonagall and Headmaster Dumbledore stood directly behind her.

"Good morning, professors," she said with a small smile as she turned back to her book. She assumed that they wanted to talk to Harry, and she was butted out anyway. She would rather read.

"Miss Granger, what are you reading?" Professor McGonagall asked. Hermione didn't catch the tightness of her tone.

"Oh, it's a Muggle novel, Professor. A classic. I just got it over break, and I haven't had a chance to read it until now."

"A novel?" The Headmaster asked with grandfatherly befuddlement. "A work of fiction? I'm surprised, Miss Granger. You're always so studious."

Hermione _did_, however, catch the Headmaster's disappointment. A seed of anxiety planted itself in her mind.

"I thought it might be a nice change. It's a good story," Hermione said quietly. She felt the book plucked from her grasp before she saw the Headmaster's hand.

"I'm afraid that any books which cannot be found in the school library must be read by a Professor before they can be read by a student. Unfortunately, Miss Granger, most Muggle literature falls in that category." He flipped through the book carelessly, bending the pages and scraping off the nice gilded edges with his thumbnail as he did so. Hermione felt like she might swallow her tongue. How dare he mistreat her book? _But he's the Headmaster! _"Did you bring any more books back with you, Miss Granger?"

"Some books I had seen in the library that I wanted my own copies of," she answered in semi-truth. "I like to annotate, and I can't do that with a school copy."

Hermione had brought back a dozen or more Muggle books, and now she would have to hide them, she was sure. But how to go about it? He would surely catch her trying to go back to her dormitory between classes.

_Draco_. _Potions_.

"Oh, _there's _the Miss Granger I know," Professor McGonagall said, chucking Hermione's chin. Hermione felt like a child who had been asked to give away a well -deserved cookie and been compensated by a pat on the head. "I'll see you this afternoon, Miss Granger. I look forward to your thoughts on Inanimate Transformations in that essay!"

Hermione grimaced a smile at the Professor and watched the Headmaster walk away with her book.

As soon as the Professors were gone, Ron, Ginny, and Lavender all snorted into their food with laughter.

"You look like someone took away your meal, and not a book!" Ron chortled.

Harry, at least, was a little sympathetic. "Don't worry, Hermione, you'll have it back by the end of the week, I'm sure."

Unable to bear his obliged sympathy in combination with the teasing the others were giving to her, Hermione stood and left for Potions.

OoOoOoOoO

"Draco?" Hermione asked. She was the only Gryffindor in the room so far, but Draco and a few of his cronies were there. Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, and the older Greengrass girl.

"Yes?" He asked.

"I…I need to ask you a favor." Hermione asked embarrassedly. "The Headmaster just confiscated a book of mine, because it's a Muggle novel, and I think he's going to search my room. Could you, maybe, help me hide them?"

"I'll do you one better. Bookish!" A House Elf with a potato-shaped nose in a well kept purple dishcloth popped into the room. "This is a family Elf, he's here at Hogwarts for…someone else, though. Bookish, do you think you could put Miss Granger's Muggle books somewhere the Headmaster won't find them?"

"I be certain I can," said Bookish. "So this is Head Girl Hermione Granger."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Bookish. Thank you for helping me." Hermione had long since gotten over her obsession with freeing the House Elves and was instead as courteous as she could be.

"Hmph. Miss must stand straighter, looks like a bent dandelion." Hermione stood straighter and smiled at the Elf. "Hmph. She does well, maybe. Must talk to Poppet about the Head Girl's hair, though. Bookish likes you well enough. Books be gone in a moment."

With a snap, the Elf was gone.

"That was…unexpected. Thank you, Draco."

"You're welcome…Hermione." Draco shook his head and then paused, suddenly aware of shuffling outside the door. "To your seat then. Double time!"

Just as Hermione sat down, the rest of the class filed in. Hermione could feel Draco and his crew staring at her now and then, but she pushed any discomfort she had aside.

Neville was sweet enough to partner with her before Harry and Ron could. She would no doubt be correcting his mistakes for a large part of the morning, but he tried his best, bless him, whereas Ron was lazy and Harry wasn't the best for detail.

Professor Snape stalked into the room. "You will be working on the preparations for a very difficult Potion for the next classes. This potion is not only volatile to brew, but it is also toxic if mis-brewed, and poisonous if not taken in the correct dosage. If I had my way, you would not be brewing this potion at all, but apparently my opinion as a Master of Potions is unimportant to a board of people who can't eve brew a Draught of Peace."

"Big head, much?" Harry snorted to Ron.

"Five points from Gryffindor. Onwards," he flipped his own book up to the correct page. "Turn to page 437."

The class was slow, slower than usual. Every few sentences, he stopped and made them write down what was important. This was by far the most detailed they had ever gone into the preparation of a potion. Naturally, not even halfway into the class, most of the Gryffindors were blatantly ignoring the Professor while some of the Slytherins seemed to space out and come to in intervals.

"For this potion, you will number off into groups of two. However, since this potion is finicky enough that it notices changes in the gender magic of it's makers, Miss Granger will be paired with Miss Parkinson and Miss Greengrass, as they are the only females in the class."

After everyone else had paired up, Hermione moved to sit by the other two girls.

"Hi Pansy. Hi Daphne."

"Hermione," the girls said together.

"Draco said you offered him forgiveness. Is that true?" Daphne whispered.

"'Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us,'" was all Hermione said with a small smile. "That's come to mean a lot to me recently."

"May I ask?" Pansy murmured.

"I'm not really comfortable talking about it yet. Let's just say that someone I love very much betrayed my trust, but it hurt me more to stay angry at them." Hermione looked very sad for a moment. She tried very hard not to get sucked back into the pain and humiliation of that day…"Let's work on our project, shall we?"

By the end of class, Hermione and the girls had agreed to meet after classes in Hermione's room, unless Draco didn't mind them using the sitting room of their shared quarters.

"Stupid Snape, pairing me up with Goyle," Harry complained. "He kept asking about our practice schedule for Quidditch, and talking about his free blocks."

"Zabini was the same," Ron snarked.

"Boys," Hermione said as she spun around and faced them. "Did it occur to you that they were trying to find a day when you could meet to work on the project? They gave you their free blocks to let you know when they were available, and they asked about Quidditch so that they could know when you were busy."

"More likely they were trying to find out when they could steal the pitch," Ron snapped before Harry could be allowed to see reason. Harry, as he always did, automatically sided with Ron without thinking.

"Why are you defending them, Mione?" Ron asked accusingly. "You got paired with Parkinson and that Greengrass bitch. It's not like they were any different."

"Oh, sorry Ron," Hermione hissed, "I didn't remember that you were in our group, giving input and following the conversation so closely. In fact, I was under the impression that you were focused on you _own_ project! Listen, I've had a really tough day already, I've had to do some really difficult stuff I put off for far too long, I've been overloaded with information, and on top of that, I have to deal with extra work for Professor McGonagall and I'm waiting for answers from three universities. I really, _really_ don't need your antagonism right now, so please, _please_ keep your prejudices to yourself for twenty four hours!"

Hermione rushed away from them, ignoring their calls.

"MIONE!" Ron finally yelled, angry.

"AND DON'T CALL ME MIONE!"

Hermione rounded a corner and found the nearest alcove. She cast a silencing charm and a notice-me-not charm and allowed herself a small tantrum. She screamed shrilly and kicked the wall and tugged at her hair and let a few sobs escape. She rested her head against her fists on the wall and took a few calming breaths.

"Is something troubling you, Miss Granger?"

Hermione spun around. "Professor Snape!" She was mortified. "Oh my goodness, I am _so_ sorry! I didn't know you were in here- wait, how are you in here? I thought you were in the classroom? Never mind, sorry sir. It's just-" she looked at her watch, "10:00 a.m. and I'm already ready for the day to be over."

Hermione put a hand on her hip and clutched her rosary around her neck, closing her eyes and taking calming breaths. "Please forgive me for my outburst, Sir."

A cool, long hand touched hers, and she found herself dropping her rosary into his, looking up at his eyes like a dear in the headlights.

"Who is your patron saint?" He asked quietly.

"Thomas Aquinas." Hermione answered automatically.

He took her by her wrist and guided her to the back wall of the alcove. Pressing her palm to the wall he nodded to her.

"Saint Thomas Aquinas," Hermione said again.

The long slab of marble in the wall shifted, shrank, molded, and expanded until it was an altar with an image of the saint on a plaque behind it. Hermione gasped and stared as a single candle lit itself and others appeared, waiting.

"Hogwarts was built a thousand years ago, when everyone, whether they were Pureblooded or Muggleborn, was of the church. In the last fifty years or so, efforts have been made to convert Hogwarts to an agnostic point of view, but the castle protects itself. A school is a place of worship as much as a church. We come here to learn, to think, and to progress. Knowledge is holy, Miss Granger," he said as he looked at the patron saint of scholars. "If it were not worth pursuing, God would not have left it unknown to us for us to find."

"Yes," Hermione breathed. In the altar candlelight, the Professor seemed…different…somehow…more sentient, and stronger, more impassioned…

Hermione snapped her eyes to the alter and focused. Now was not the time for schoolgirl crushes.

She couldn't afford that luxury.

"Now is your free period, I believe?"

"Yes."

"You may remain here, if you like. I'll step out. But…you should know…other Professors are not as understanding about such things. It is very important that the Headmaster not know how to find these shrines."

"He hates it, doesn't he?"

"Faith? No, he loves faith when it's invested properly. Invested in his cause and in him. Invested in 'the Light,' and not the truth or the way." The Professor's voice was bitter and angry. "I'm trusting you to keep this place, and any other place you find now that you know how, a secret from your friends. Such places are sacred, and do not need the interference of others coming to gawk."

"I understand, Sir. Thank you," Hermione smiled.

He bowed to her and stepped out of the alcove.

Hermione looked once again at the shrine and placed her hand on the cool marble. "Please, can I see the Holy Mother?"

The image of Thomas Aquinas bowed his head and made a sign of the cross to her. She bowed her own head in thanks as his bronze plaque was replaced by a silver image of Mother Mary. Hermione knelt and picked up the lit candle. She said a name as she lit each one.

"Mum…Dad…Harry…Ron…Ginny…Fred…George…Draco…Bellatrix…Dumbledore…" She hovered over the last candle. "Severus."

She did not hear the gasp around the corner.

"Hail Mary, full of Grace, blessed art though among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us poor sinners now and at the hour of our deaths, Amen.

"God, I don't understand. I'm trying so hard, but it hurts so much. Why did he try to do that? Why would he say those things, why would he put his hands on me like that? Why wouldn't the Headmaster help me? Father, I don't understand, and I'm trying so hard. I've forgiven him, but I'm still afraid. I've forgiven Draco and his family, and Dolohov, and I'm trying, God, I'm trying to forgive the Dark Lord, because he wasn't in his right mind. But I'm still afraid. I know I shouldn't be, and I know that anything that there are no coincidences, and that You will always catch me, that you don't give anyone anything they can't handle, but I am completely overwhelmed.

"I'm trying so hard to trust you, God, and it isn't easy when there are so many people who seem so good and then betray me. But bless them anyway.

"Bless Harry, please. He's really good, but he isn't standing up for himself. Make him the leader he's supposed to be.

"Bless Ron, let his temper cool a bit. His words are hurting him more than me.

"Bless Ginny, God. She's beautiful the way she is, but the way she goes on you wouldn't know it. Help her see that she doesn't have to put herself out like that. Help Lavender see that, too.

"Bless Fred and George. They're business is going so well, and I'm sure you're proud of them, but I think they are becoming confused as to what they believe in. Help them find the path you've set out for them.

"Bless the Headmaster. He isn't a good man, I don't think, but he is a great one, and that means a lot of people look up to him. Please make him a good example to follow, not a false prophet.

"Bless Draco. He's young, and I know he's scared of the fight that's to come, but he's becoming his own man in the process. Help him be the man you want him to be.

"Bless Bellatrix, too, please. She has had a hard life, in spite of all the gifts you have given her. I know that it has made her angry, but please don't let it embitter her.

"Bless Mum and Dad. Let business go well for them. You…you know how important it is to the. Please let them be proud of me some day.

"Thank you for Professor Snape. He's a good man, and he'll be a great one someday, I know it. Help him see that he's more important than even he knows. Help him stay strong, and true to himself. I would rather him be on the other side of the line and confident in his faith and his values than standing by the Headmaster, unhappy and torn. Bless him, _please_ bless him. Make him be happy. He deserves it.

"Amen."

OoOoOoOoO

Severus pressed himself against the wall as Hermione left the alcove and went in the opposite direction. As soon as she had rounded the corner, he clawed to loosen his cravat and stumbled out of breath into the alcove. He slammed his hands on the blank marble.

"Joseph, Husband of Mary," he gasped.

The saint appeared.

"Is it her? Is she the one? _Is it her_?"

The saint on his silver plaque looked skyward.

Severus pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. His student?

He had been praying for days. Weeks. Months. Years. Since he had seen Potter come into the Great Hall for his sorting, he had been longing. It had hit him like a ton of bricks that if those foul words had not left his lips, Harry would have been his son. _His son_. He wanted sons. He wanted daughters. He wanted a wife. So he had prayed, and prayed, and prayed for God to show him the one that He had designed for him.

Hermione Granger had taken his breath away with her prayer. How long had it been since someone had prayed for him? Narcissa, he knew, prayed for him along with her family, a few friends included him when he was present for a family prayer, but, for _him_, just for him, to be what God wanted him to be?

His mother had prayed for his father every day. Sometimes it worked, for months on end. At the end of her life, Severus had confessed to her his fear that he would mistreat his wife or children as Tobias had done.

"Never doubt the power of a praying wife," his mother had said. At that moment his father had stumbled drunk into the room, crawling up into the bed with his frail wife, bawling like a babe against her shoulder as he begged her not to leave him.

She was dead by morning.

Tobias Snape died hours later of a head wound from when the coroners had to forcibly remove him from her body. In true Snape fashion, the great bull of a man had taken down three other men before he succumbed.

Tobias had turned his head to his son, who was restrained by other personnel.

"Sev? I'm sorry, baby, I'm sorry." That was the moment he had known his father was dying. He hadn't called him 'baby' since he was eight or so.

They were buried together beneath a single tombstone: _Tobias Abram Snape, and wife Eileen Corrine Prince. 'Never doubt the power of a praying wife.'_

His father had loved his mother. He knew that. He didn't doubt his father's love for his mother, not when he cried when he realized he'd hurt her, not when he broke down completely the one time she had tried to leave him, not when he remembered birthdays and anniversaries better than Christmas. He tried. He tried, and he failed, but he tried. And Eileen had never given up on him.

He didn't want a woman _like_ his mother, per say, but he wanted a woman who could love as deeply and fully and as strongly as his mother.

But was it his student?

"Father," he begged. "Help me."


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

THREE

_FEBRUARY 23__RD__, SEVENTH YEAR_

Narcissa Malfoy read Severus's letter for the third time with a sigh and a smile. He said that he might have found the woman for him, but he was afraid to approach her because of her status and age. Personally, Narcissa was a little off put by the age of the girl- she was in the same year as her son, although older- but from his description of the girl, he was already half in love with her.

_She is exquisite, Cissy,_ he had written. _She is intelligent, and beautiful, and faithful, and, most importantly, a follower of the Way. We beseech the same Patron Saint. She talks to God like he's sitting face to face with her. She is the most caring, open individual I know, and, Cissy, when I showed her how to work the alcoves, she prayed for me, though she thought I had left. Not for my soul, or for me to be loyal to Dumbledore, but for me to be happy. And I think that _she_ could make me happy. How can I possibly go about this?_

Severus, who usually shunned such a frivolous word, finally wanted a chance to be happy. When Narcissa had shared the letter with her husband, he had immediately gone to the Dark Lord to ensure the girl's place in the lottery. Although both of them were a bit upset with the girl's age, they allowed that more uneven matches were made every day, and no one could contest the girl's maturity and compassion, they agreed to proceed with optimistic caution.

Bookish popped into his mistress's parlor with a batch of potions from his borrower.

"Bookish," she asked politely, "do you know the Elf who serves Head Girl Hermione Granger?"

"Bookish knows her, my Lady, but the Head Girl does not know that there is a House Elf to serve her. Bookish has talked with the Elf assigned to her chambers, regarding the Head Girl's _horrid _hair, and the Headmaster has forbidden her to reveal herself." Bookish shuddered. "Poppet be only a youngling, Mistress. If she is to find her niche, it must be now, or she will suffer all her life."

Narcissa frowned. When she had been Head Girl, just two years before the Potters, and three years after Lucius had graduated as Head Boy, she had been assigned an elf. She was a rotund little thing, stern as Elves come, called Nursie. Nursie had boasted to Narcissa that she had raised three generations of pureblooded ladies, fifteen mothers, daughters, and cousins, and all of them had made acceptable matches. No young lady, according to Nursie, was without a nurse Elf, not if she was a proper lady. According to Nursie, a lady also wrote to her mother daily, her fiancé twice a week, and her father on Sundays; a lady didn't wear anything falling below her collarbone before three o'clock in the afternoon, and wore a hat no matter the weather to prevent freckles; a lady sewed for an hour a day, and said prayers first thing in the morning and before going to bed. Nursie also kindly informed her that she would be going with her after graduation- "Lady Cissy always need Nursie looking after her, and Nursie is knowing best." Narcissa had been in no state to agree, as she was sewing, which Nursie- and her wooden spoon- had always insisted was a silent activity.

According to Nursie, _every_ Head Girl trained a House Elf to be a lady's maid or nurse, and more often than not the Elf chose to go with the Head Girl as her personal Elf. An untrained Elf was a pariah among House Elves. It was why Dobby had been such an anomaly- he had no sect. He was rebellious and naughty, utterly un-Elfish. The House Elf community turned their backs on such unfortunates, making them the whipping boy of the clan or house, or pushing them beyond their capabilities and running them to exhaustion. That _blasted _Headmaster was not only denying the Head Girl a privilege, he was endangering the welfare of an Elf, and that was something that Narcissa would not stand for. The measure of a lady was the wellbeing of those in her custody, and if Severus found her worthy of his attention, she knew that Miss Granger would go full on mother bear if she knew what was happening to someone who was supposed to be under her care.

Narcissa couldn't help it. Her sense of justice and compassion had been affronted, albeit indirectly, and she was confident enough to predict the consequences positively.

Narcissa did something very, very Gryffindor.

She sat down at her desk, and began to write.

OoOoOoOoO

_Miss Granger,_

_Assuming that this letter has not been confiscated or otherwise compromised, and you have not burned it immediately upon recognizing that I sent it, I feel that I must inform you of a grievous error. _

_It is tradition that the Head Girl, no matter her social or financial standing, be given an Elf to train to be a lady's maid or nurse, or perhaps an experienced Elf seeking a new position, as per the Elf and Head Girl's mutual agreement. The Elf more often than not elects to bind herself to the Head Girl for the remainder of her life. I know this from personal experience, as my own Elf, Nursie, who has been with me these past eighteen years, came to me in this way. She is very dear to me, still._

_I must inform you that I was most surprised to hear from our family Elf, Bookish, who is currently serving a friend who is near, and hopefully dear, to you at Hogwarts, that you have not yet become acquainted with the Elf assigned to your rooms. I must warn you, according to Bookish, this Elf is fairly young. She may have elder lady Elves teaching her some things, as her mother surely is, but as the saying goes, "it is one thing to profess and another to master." I fear that this Elf's welfare will be in danger if she is not trained soon. _

_According to Bookish, the Elf's name is Poppet. No one quite understands the way elves age, but she is the equivalent of a twelve year old in Human standards. Her mother Basque, a disgraced lady's maid who was turned out for some ridiculous reason, has been training her to the best of her ability, but is currently slaving in the kitchens as the scullery Elf, far below her station. Imagine, if you will, Professor McGonagall sweeping the floors alongside Mr. Filch. That is the equivalent. _

_For the sake of the Elf, Miss Granger, I ask that you look to Poppet's care and training. I am, of course, free to any questions you may or may not have for me._

_Sincerely,_

_Lady Narcissa Grace Magdalene Black Malfoy_

_P.S. Circumstances are arising in which an Elf will be beneficial to you. This is not a warning of bad things to come, but a foretelling of good events. Consider it my thanks for forgiving my family. God bless you and keep you, Miss Granger._

Hermione sat down on her trunk in a slump. How awful! Why had she not been informed of an Elf? She knew, of course, that an Elf was the reason her room was spotless and not just neat, and how her bed was warmed on especially cold nights, and how the flowers on her mantle were changed weekly. But she didn't know that it was one particular Elf whose sole purpose was to serve her!

"Poppet?" Hermione said tentatively. "Poppet, dear, can I speak to you please?"

With barely a whisper of a pop, the tiniest Elf Hermione had ever seen appeared. Poppet was, indeed, a doll. Her angular heart shaped face had a wide, thin mouth, eyes as big as tennis balls and pink as a tulip, and a pert little nose like a strawberry. She wore what appeared to be a well-loved (pretty, but worn) pillow case of pale cream, and a violet sprigged handkerchief tied over her head, her cat-like ears exposed.

"The Head Girl called Poppet to her?" Poppet asked with wonder. "Is Poppet being sent away? Has Poppet done wrong?"

"No, Poppet, you haven't done wrong, and you aren't being sent away." Hermione said with a sad smile. "Poppet, I am very sorry that you were told not to reveal yourself to me. The Headmaster must have been confused when he gave you those orders. Still, I should have known that there was a certain Elf to be thanked for taking care of me and my things for this last half year, and I should have known to talk to you, or ask who you were. You have been grievously wronged, by Headmaster Dumbledore certainly, but also by me, and I am asking you for your forgiveness and offering to train you."

"Poppet is being _asked_ for forgiveness?" The young elf gasped. "The Head Girl is most kind, most generous! Oh, Poppet does not know what an Elf is to do! No, no, no!" The little elf screwed up her sweet face and burst into tears.

"Poppet! Poppet, please don't cry." Immediately the tears stopped. "I don't know what to do either. Perhaps we should ask someone?"

Poppet was trying so hard not to cry she was blue in the face. With a gasp of reason she called out "Mammy!"

With a snap, an older elf appeared. Basque was as lovely as her daughter was, with magenta eyes just a tad darker than her own daughters, her strawberry nose a bit larger, and her cat like ears much bigger. Her kerchief matched her daughter's, but was smudged with soot and grime, and she wore a man's beater as a dress. Perhaps as a shout out to her old profession, Basque seemed to have found a lovely bit of pink ribbon and a floral printed square pot holder and fashioned herself an apron.

"Hello," Hermione said warmly. "You must be Basque. I'm very pleased to meet you."

Basque looked shocked, but a twinkle that had not been there before appeared in her eye as she curtsied more gracefully than Scarlet O'Hara.

"Basque, daughter of Porcelain, is most pleased to make your acquaintance, Head Girl Hermione Granger." She intoned in a surprisingly hoarse voice.

"Basque, may I ask you some questions?" Hermione asked.

"You may, Head Girl," Basque murmured quietly, a bit of worry marring her face. "Has Basque's Poppet done wrong?"

"No, Poppet has done nothing wrong. The Headmaster seems to have been confused, unless he deliberately fibbed, and told Poppet that I would not want an Elf to serve me or to train. I've just apologized for not knowing about the situation, and Poppet and I don't know how to proceed."

"Poppet," Basque said swiftly, every inch the teacher, "you must be telling the Head Girl that she is forgiven, and then must be promising that Poppet will serve her best, as always."

Poppet made such promises.

"Basque, I'm terribly behind. I don't want to fail Poppet, but I don't know anything about training an Elf. Will you be persuaded to help me?"

"Basque is being invited to serve again?" The mother Elf whispered in awe. "Basque's children and their children's children will serve the Head Girl's family for a hundred generations!"

"Have you other children, Basque?" Hermione had never known anything about House Elf societies and their family structures. Basque looked to be the equivalent of a late thirty something, and Hermione was curious as to how many children such a young and small body could have.

"Basque is having nine Elfkins. Nibblet, Sweetkins, Griddle, Cocoa, Bouquet, Skillet, Tickles, Wiggles, and Poppet." Basque said proudly. "Husband Brawny has found positions for all others but Poppet, who is babiest baby, near to him in the Most Wise and Worthy House of Greengrass. All of them are most happy."

"Nine babies?" Hermione gawked. That was more than Mrs. Weasley! "Good gracious! I don't think I could handle it."

Basque laughed. "When the Head Girl is having a good Husband, she will be understanding. Love just spills over and makes baby after baby. In five years, Head Girl will be remembering Basques' words when she has three snugglies of her own."

Hermione wanted to declare that she wouldn't have children in as little as five years, but then again, she never thought she would have Elves in her custody.

"I need to pen a letter to someone," Hermione said. "Will you and Poppet talk about what we need to do before school's end, and then help me make a plan? I don't know what I'll be doing at the end of the year, but I would like to at least find you and Poppet a good position close to your family, if not take you with me."

At their nods of agreement, Hermione turned to her desk. By the time she had taken two steps, the two little Elfmaids were doing an item-by-item inventory of her wardrobe.

What had she agreed to?

OoOoOoOoO

Severus Snape had to forcibly stop himself from fidgeting as he waited for enter the Great Hall. He wanted to look at her. He wanted to _see_ her. Was he flushed? Did Dumbledore know that he was becoming interested in the girl? Did he have that look of a schoolboy with a crush?

As it was dinner time, the students did not have to wear their robes. He tried to remind himself that he'd seen her a hundred times. She would come traipsing down the stairs in a pair of baggy jeans and a Weasley sweater four times too big for her. Her hair would be in a rat's nest, and she would have her button nose in a book. He saw her every day. This would be no different. Just because she prayed for him didn't make her any different. Just because he had begun praying for her didn't make her any different. Just because he had been given permission to…to court her, and just because Bookish had brought a missive from Lucius saying that her place in the Lottery was secure did not mean she would be-

-Different.

And there she was.

And she _was _different.

She was wearing a dress. A very pretty pink house dress, her curls were shaped and hung in ringlets rather than a rat's nest, and were held back by a white headband. She wore tan flats, some thin gold bangles, and a pair of gold studs. And…was she wearing the barest hint of makeup? She didn't need it, but it accentuated her features beautifully.

And it hit him.

He was going to marry Hermione Jean Granger.

OoOoOoOoO

Once again, for the second time in as many days, Hermione found herself fleeing the Great Hall in near tears.

Why?

_Why_?

Was she not good enough for them anymore? Was she not good enough to be anymore than the token Gryffindor bookworm, was she destined to always be the Order's little research addict? What was it that made them treat her this way?

_You don't look like yourself, Miss Granger, are you alright?_

_I didn't expect you to have such low self-esteem as to change yourself, Miss Granger!_

_Personally, I've always thought you looked lovely in earth tones._

_I'm sure Mr. Weasley doesn't care about what you wear, Miss Granger, he soon won't be so distracted by Miss Brown. Have a little faith, dear!_

That last one, the lowest blow, had been whispered in her ear by Professor McGonagall. It said it all, their plans for her after graduation. They wanted her to be the next Molly. They wanted her to pop out baby after red headed baby and be so desperate for intellectual stimulation that she would research anything for them.

She would rather be the next Mr. Filch.

Hermione ran and ran until she found the alcove that the Professor had shown her.

She placed her hands against the wall and cried out for Mary.

The Holy Virgin looked down on Hermione with the face only a mother whose child is in pain can have. Hermione didn't even pray, not really. If there were words, she didn't remember forming them or them being intelligible. She just cried and cried and cried on the altar.

Severus followed the girl from the side door. She was running, and he had to jog lightly to keep up with her. It didn't matter. He knew where she was going.

Because she was pretty. Really? They had to beat her down because she was pretty and intelligent? If she had been in Slytherin, they would have expected it and despised her quietly, but no. She was their Gryffindor, and they needed her to be as quiet as possible about her intelligence and her beauty.

She was too distraught to have remembered the wards, and he walked right into the alcove. After setting them for her, he watched her. She sobbed into her arms on the altar, not a candle lit, the Virgin Mary looking down on her in worry and sadness. The Virgin looked up to him and gestured to her.

If he needed a sign that he was to care for this woman, then that was it.

It felt like an out of body experience when he knelt to her right and placed his hand on her shoulder. She turned and saw him, and with a sad smile, tucked herself into his side as she clasped his right hand in both of hers. His left came around to hold her close. And they knelt there, supplicant before the Lady, who smiled at them.

Though he held a crying woman in his arms, Severus felt his heart soar.

He had found her. And he had all the blessings he needed.

OoOoOoOoO

Brawny cuddled his wife close to him. Lady Greengrass said that Basque could come and see him whenever she felt like it in his room above the stables. Brawny wasn't very smart, and he was a giant of an Elf, standing all of three and a half feet tall, which made him too big for nice clean housework, but the horses loved him, and his wife loved him, and his babies loved him, so he was happy.

His babiest baby Poppet had come to visit her pappy, too, and she was snuggled next to her older twin brothers Tickles and Wiggles. Brawny wasn't House-smart. He was Animal-smart, and Barn-smart. But he knew that his babiest baby was sad when her mistress didn't talk to her. Now that she knew it wasn't anyone's fault but the headmaster, he knew that she was finally proud of herself.

"Poppet's Pappy is always proud of her," Brawny had said as he snuggled her close to him, "but Pappy is even more proud of his babiest baby than she is proud of herself."

They had had a little party, just for the family, to celebrate Poppet's good fortune. They hadn't bothered inviting any other Elfs, as was tradition, because Basque was still in disgrace from the Miss Greengrass' naughty cousins who threw clothes at Elves with every tantrum. Other Elfs were most nasty to his Basque, and he had come to blows with them every time. He was not called Brawny for nothing. Poppet was very happy to be training, but had confessed that she didn't want to leave her mother and father yet.

"Silly Poppet, thinking she won't be her Pappy's babiest baby for always."

OoOoOoOoO

Daphne, Astoria, Millicent, Pansy, and Tracy held a powwow in the Seventh Year Girl's room.

"Do you think that our Lord will think of her?" Astoria asked as she patiently unknotted a first year's tangled embroidery.

"He must, as she must be thinking of him, since there is no way he doesn't know that she's forgiving Slytherins and Death Eaters." Daphne said as she held swatches to Pansy's cheek for a pattern. "There's no way that Draco hasn't written home, and we all know how quick the Malfoys are to look after others."

"I'm certain that Narcissa at least will take her under wing," Pansy said as she looked up from her book. "Did you see how pretty she looked tonight?"

"Lavender Brown's already got it all over the school that the Headmaster and McGonagall shot her down, and basically told her to dress her part." Tracy gossiped.

"No!" Millicent was aghast. She put down her own needle and looked at Tracy. "Why would they do such a thing?"

"Because they want to control her, Millie," she replied. "But while everyone was focused on her, do you know what I noticed?"

"Professor Flitwick looking like he'd swallowed his spoon?"

"Hagrid looking like he thought she was a new student?"

"Professor Sprout looking like she'd swallowed a lemon?"

"I saw Professor Snape looking like the Mother had dropped an angel in his lap," Tracy said superiorly. "And I'm glad that the Headmaster didn't notice, because if he had, there would be questions for sure."

"Hermione Granger and Professor Snape?!" the girls shrieked. Then they stopped.

"That makes a twisted kind of sense, actually," Daphne conceded.

They all stared at her.

"What? I ship it."

OoOoOoOoO

Olivia Greengrass looked up at her husband as he strolled through into her bedroom. Husbands and wives still traditionally took separate bedrooms, and it wasn't as though she went around asking who slept next to their husband every night, but she liked that her husband always wanted to sleep with her.

No wonder she had five children, and a stepdaughter.

Daphne and Astoria were her youngest daughters. Harold had been married before his wife divorced him when their contract was not fulfilled, leaving him with his three year old, Amelia. People had been shocked when seventeen year old Olivia Crewe had married thirty five year old Harold Greengrass, but they let it slide. It was when Amelia called her mama in public that there were whispers. Of course, when Olivia's tyrannical mother had tried to beat that word out of her with a silver-backed brush, wanting her daughter to be called "stepmother" instead, people learned not to mess with her daughter. Amelia hadn't come from her body, but she was her mother, and she would protect her baby come Hell or high water, and especially from her mother.

Harold had wanted more babies right away, but Olivia put her foot down. When Amelia understood that she was loved by Olivia as well as any biological child would be, they would have children. Finally, they had Daphne. Amelia was six when Daphne was born, and a year later they had Astoria. They waited another two years before having Ajax and Campbell, who were currently attending their third year at Durmstrang, and five years ago, they were surprised with Edward.

Three daughters, three sons, and a husband who slept by her every night.

Olivia's life was so full of love. She was blessed.

"I've had the most interesting letter from Daphne and Story, my love," she said as she pulled the blanket down next to her for him to slide in.

"Oh?" He said as he settled in next to her, pulling her into his arms.

"It appears that the rumors about Hermione Granger are true. She's a follower of the Way, and she's offering forgiveness. And according to Tracy Davis, Severus's interest in her is as true. The Headmaster hasn't noticed, of course, but there it is."

"He's a bit old for the girl, isn't he?"

"No more difference than you and I, and you know it, you old goat!"

"I'll show you old goat madam!"

And laughter. Her life was full of laughter.

OoOoOoOoO

"I fear I must give us both detention, Miss Granger."

Hermione's eyes felt sticky and itchy, but she bolted upright. She had literally cried herself to sleep on Professor Snape's shoulder.

"It's after curfew, Miss Granger, and I find that I have need of an assistant after classes tomorrow."

Hermione smiled at the Professor. "Well you'd best make sure that I get to bed, sir."

"Undoubtedly," he purred.

The two of them stood and walked out of the alcove.

"I'll need to escort you to your room, Miss Granger. Best to make sure you don't wander off to the library or some such nonsense."

They walked in silence a ways. Hermione smiled as he slipped his arm around her waist.

"Making sure I don't dawdle?"

"Naturally."

They reached the seventh floor, where the Head's dormitory was.

"Do you think you're alright from here?" he asked.

"I don't know. You'd best make sure I don't get lost." And they continued towards her rooms.

"Will you stay in your rooms, Miss Granger?"

"I don't know, Professor," she smiled. "Perhaps if you kissed me?"

"Kiss you, Miss Granger?" He murmured outside her door.

"Yes. I want to be kissed, you see," she smirked, "and if I don't have a kiss now, I'll go looking for one, which means I'll leave my rooms. So it would save us both the trouble, now wouldn't it?"

Kiss someone else? Not on his watch! Severus grabbed her by the shoulders and put his mouth on hers, swallowing her gasp and relishing in her arms around his waist. _Go looking for one, indeed!_

He pulled away and pressed his forehead to hers. "I'll see you tomorrow, Hermione."

"I'll pray for you, Severus."

And they parted.

A hundred miles away, a pair of ravens looked up from their nest. There was the faintest of calls.

**AN: Just a reminder, despite the religious tone this is an M rated story. There will be nothing explicit, but it will be made clear what is happening. This is rated M more for language and future violence than anything.**


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

FOUR: 

_FEBRUARY 24, Seventh Year (1998)_

Hermione touched her face in the mirror. She felt so different, beautiful and bright, but she looked as she always had.

"Good morning, Mistress," a small voice said. "Poppet is being ready to serve."

"Good morning, Poppet. Will you please go run a bath for me?" The little Elf nearly swooned at the prospect. "Good morning, Basque."

"Good morning, Mistress. Basque is being ready to serve!" Basque looked cleaner than she ever had. She had the happy glow of an Elf with a purpose.

"Basque, can you please lay out my uniform and check my mail for me? Don't bother if it is from my mother or father, or from the Weasley family, but if it is anyone else, please bring it to me. I'm quite afraid that the Headmaster is reading my mail." Hermione sighed, thinking back to Lady Malfoy's letter. "I think it would be best if you fetch it for me. I'll read it at lunch."

"Basque is most pleasured to, ma'am."

Poppet had gone a bit over the top with the oils, but Hermione's hair had never been so shiny and smooth. Hermione allowed Poppet to try her hand at styling, and Hermione soon had her hair in a neat half-chignon, the rest of her curls hanging free. Small pearl studs were allowed, but other than that, Hermione wore no jewelry.

Basque made it very clear that she detested the uniforms of Hogwarts. "The Greengrass ladies be wearing proper clothes when not in school. Hooped skirts, and shawls, and hairs in nets. None of this silly robe wearing! You is not taking a bath! You is not ill!" Still, she modified Hermione's uniform to her liking, keeping it within the standards. The dress code simply stated that skirts were to be no higher than four inches above knee length. Hermione's gray skirt reached the tops of her heeled boots, and was bustled in the back, the black lace of a slip barely peeping from the hem. She wore her white shirt, but its sleeves were buttoned tight along her forearm and bloused from elbow to shoulder. Her sweater vest was a good deal tighter, accentuating her curves without being indecent. Her robes buttoned from toe to collar bone, and the wide sleeves hid the modified blouse as well. Only her starched collar and her neat gold and red tie were visible.

Hermione felt silly hoping that Professor Snape would like how she looked when she went to help him this afternoon. She knew that it was what was inside that counted, but she couldn't help hoping that he liked the packaging. Hermione blushed prettily and touched her mouth.

Hermione looked no different from the day before, aside from the fact that her hair was up, but she was. She picked up her satchel and went to the door.

"Let me, Hermione," Draco said as he opened the portrait for her. "You look lovely, by the way."

"Thank you, Draco," Hermione smiled. "I've only just met my Elf, Poppet, and her mother. They had a few things to say about my appearance."

"Daphne wants to sit by you in Herbology, if that's okay." Draco said as they walked towards the stairs to go to breakfast. "And Professor Snape says that he's sorry, and something has come up that will prevent your 'detention.'"

"That would be lovely, tell her I'll save her a seat if I get there first." Hermione said, trying not to be sad that she would not be seeing Sev- the Professor.

"Oi, get away from her, Ferret!" Ron Weasley came up to them, his face an ugly magenta.

"Ronald, we were just talking, honestly!" Hermione groaned. Harry and Ron were so hateful that they didn't care if they hurt her in the process. She always forgave them, anyway. "We've got Head duties to discuss, leave us alone!"

"Shut up, Mione- what do you think you're about, Malfoy, bothering Gryffindor Girls?" Harry said right up in Malfoy's face.

"You just told your best friend, and a lady, I might add, to shut up, and you're getting at me for having a civil discussion with her?" Draco stared. "Pathetic."

With a civil nod to Hermione, he turned and headed down the stairs, leaving her with the angry aftermath.

OoOoOoOoO

"Arse-holes, the both of them, Uncle. They started shouting down both of our throats the moment they saw us. Potter even told her to shut up."

Severus tried to remain calm, but he was fed up with Potter and Weasley. They called themselves her friend. Poor girl. _His _poor girl. And with the events of the day, he would not be able to see her this afternoon as he had planned. The Headmaster would be too suspicious. He would think of it later.

"Hermione is a grown woman, she can handle herself. She'll deal with worse come May."

"What happens in May? Everyone will be occupied with the Season."

Oops.

"Uncle," Draco said as he walked next to him. "What is going on? Why are you calling her Hermione?"

"I dare say you'll know later on today, Draco." Severus said cryptically. "Now get yourself to class before someone thinks we're conspiring to bomb the Tower of London and sell the Crown Jewels to the Americans."

"That's absolute rot."

"And they would believe it."

"Gryffindors," they muttered together.

In Herbology later that morning, Draco watched Daphne and Hermione sit next to each other before the Dimwitted Duo could say boo.

"Mione, what are you doing?" Weasel said, astounded.

"I promised Daphne I'd sit next to her today. You don't mind, do you?" She replied in a way which said she didn't give two damns what he minded or didn't'.

"But who'll help us?"

"Neville," Hermione said, as though they were stupid. "Honestly, Ronald, he tutors _me_."

Longbottom looked as though he'd been thrown under the proverbial hippogryph, and before either of the dunderheads could nab him for their partner, he had sat himself down next to a surprised Millie Bludstrode.

"Please don't make me take them," he begged.

Millie, despite her strong and stoic appearance, had a weakness for puppy eyes, and Neville Longbottom was using them to their full effect.

As Theo sat next to him, Draco shifted his focus to the lesson.

"You look well, Hermione," Daphne smiled.

"Thanks, Daphne," Hermione grinned back, "Did you want to talk to me about something?"

"Yeah, actually, but with your ball and chain over there, I don't think it will do well. Just…today, it's really important that you're polite to everyone. And I mean _everyone_ you may meet. And be brave, even if you're scared of who you meet. And, well, just be a lady today, ok?"

"Is there someone coming?"

"The Season Scholarship Lottery Board. It's complicated, I'll explain later…that's another thing. Do you want to come to the Slytherin Common Room tonight?"

"The Headmaster said we weren't allowed to visit other Houses?" Hermione frowned.

"No, the Headmaster implied that Gryffindors needn't associate with other houses. There are several girls meeting in the common room tonight. We would go elsewhere, but the Slytherin Common Room is by far the largest place."

"Really? Isn't it the smallest house?"

"Yes, but it's under the lake. We've got lots of space."

Hermione had no sooner nodded than the door to the greenhouses opened.

Narcissa Malfoy, Olivia Greengrass, and Darius Flint entered the room.

"Mother! I didn't realize you were coming," Draco Malfoy left his table and went to kiss his mother's cheek. Harry and Ron muttered something about a mama's boy. "Is everything alright?"

"Quite fine, Draco. I'm here with the Board today, and we were allowed to tour the school. How are you Professor Sprout? I have missed your class."

"Lady Malfoy," Pomona bubbled. "How are you, dear? Did you ever manage that charm for Lazy Lotus perfume?"

"Yes, I did, and I'm most grateful for it."

"Kiss-arse," Ron muttered.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Ronald," Hermione snapped. Ignoring the boys' sputtering, she turned to Lady Malfoy and her companions. "I apologize for his outburst, Lady Malfoy. It won't happen again." She turned to look at Lady Greengrass. "You must be Daphne's mum. Hermione Granger, Head Girl."

"How do you do, Hermione?" Lady Greengrass smiled. "Daphne and Story have written so much about you. Do you know Lord Flint?"

"You're Marcus's father aren't you? How is he?"

"He is well, young lady," Darius smiled. "Thank you for asking."

"When we're done being snotty, some of us are trying to learn," Harry snapped.

"Excuse us," Lady Malfoy said, gliding to the front of the classroom. Lady Greengrass hugged her daughter on her way there, and Lord Flint patted Hermione's head in passing.

"If I did not know of Severus's affection for her," he whispered to Narcissa, "I would have her on Marcus's arm faster than you can say 'Quidditch.'"

"Even then, Severus would have a thing or two to say. He's always had a fondness for the child; even when he was calling her a 'know-it-all' to her face, he was singing her praises to Lucius and me."

They turned from their private conversation to watch the class.

Well, it was obvious that Miss Granger would be a shoo-in for a Scholarship. Daphne and Astoria had funds set aside for them, and Daphne would be going to Germany to visit her sister and Heinrich. Astoria would be participating in the Season as a debutante, but she would not be permitted to court officially until she was seventeen, as was their family rule. Neither of them required scholarships, anyway.

Lavender Brown, unfortunately, was likely to receive a scholarship because her mother had been a debutante. Parvati Patil would if her sister did, but neither girl seemed to have the stuff. Ginerva Weasley –Narcissa vomited a little in the back of her throat- probably would receive a Scholarship if Dumbledore wanted her to, and in Narcissa's experience, Weasleys received honors whether they had earned them or not since they were in Dumbledore's pocket. She had been in the girl's class previously, and she was ghastly. Petty as Miss Brown and bigoted as her brother.

As far as gentlemen scholars, who be more focused on business and political connections than social and familial ones, Neville Longbottom looked very promising. And Millie Bludstrode was quite taken with him, it seemed. Millicent, bless her, was never the most graceful of girls, but Longbottom was patient and sweet tempered, and would do her well. Narcissa made a note to remember that. If Ginerva Weasley was in, unfortunately, so her brother would be. Oh, he would lose his scholarship two days into the season as Dumbledore surely would not allow Potter to be in such proximity to Death Eaters and would not be there to keep his compatriot in line, but anything to appease the blood traitors.

Honestly. And people called _her_ a supremacist.

The class moved on, and partners began transferring baby spinach to new soil, the cooing vegetable snuggling against their fingers and tickling their wrists. Miss Bludstrode and Mr. Longbottom finished first, of course, and he was quietly murmuring advice to her about other plants and helping her review her notes. Millicent was a sweetheart, really, once people got past her strong exterior, and Neville Longbottom seemed to have woven his way through her defenses rather quickly, judging by the cow eyes she was giving him. Miss Granger and Daphne were finished as well, and were talking quietly.

"Miss Granger," Narcissa said. "may I speak to you for a moment?"

Miss Granger left Daphne to talk to Olivia, walking with Narcissa to look at some projects from previous weeks.

"Thank you , Lady Malfoy, for telling me about Poppet," Hermione said quietly, pruning an unruly vine from a velvety _rose noire_. "She is serving me with her mother, now, and both seem to be very happy. Basque hates my uniform, by the way." Hermione smiled and flipped up the hem of her robe. "I've given her free reign over my wardrobe."

"Careful," Narcissa admonished. "House Elves treat their families like royalty. You may be going to class in a tiara and furs."

The two giggled.

"Truly, Hermione, thank you for what you've said to Draco. Lucius is much better now. I'm sure you know that Azkaban had a…decline in population?"

"Yes, I do." Hermione sighed. "Tragic really. I blame faulty construction. A wall must have collapsed, and if they can't find any bodies…well, the Ministry must be terribly busy."

"When he returned home, he put on a front for the house, but he has always been so hard on himself. It isn't in any of our natures to be pitted against minors. Our Lord," she whispered, "has compared the mentality of many of your classmates to the child soldiers of Hitler's Youth. He encountered many of them in his travels as a youngster. It has haunted him always." Narcissa sighed, smelling the calming perfume of the sparkling black rose. "It is a weakness that your headmaster exploits. Constantly."

"I'm sorry," Hermione sighed. "It must be very hard."

"It is," Narcissa allowed. "But, as it is said, no matter how hard, 'I know the plans I have for you, plans for your welfare, and not harm.'"

"'To give you a future full of hope,'" Hermione concluded. "Jeremiah 29:11"

"You know your scriptures." Narcissa purred, pleased beyond doubt. It increased her faith in the girl's, well, faith.

"A verse for every occasion," Hermione laughed.

"Hm, even for Herbology?"

"'For everything, there is a season.'"

"Will you be coming to the Slytherin Common Room, tonight?"

"I told Daphne yes, but I don't know what it's about. She couldn't tell me because Harry and Ron were too close." The only reason the bumbling two hadn't come fists flailing at the two women was because their baby spinach were howling like they had colic, big dewy tears running down their leaves. They were handling them far too roughly, and Professor Sprout was tutoring them.

"You'll see tonight. It is a select few girls outside of Slytherin, in their sixth and seventh years, but only a few. You'll understand why."

That was the moment that Professor Sprout finally just took away the seedlings from the boys. Actually, more away from Harry. Ron had simply given up, Harry actually put forth some effort, but he wasn't a very gentle touch either.

"Death Eater whore," Ron snarled in Lady Malfoy's face as he yanked Hermione away and threw her towards Harry. "She won't listen to your lies."

"Yes, yes, because violent hands are so much more convincing than gentle explanations," Narcissa quipped. Inside, she was near killing the boy. After all, the only thing more dangerous than a mother bear was a mother dragon. Hermione, in her humiliation at allowing such treatment of her person, didn't dare look at the harsh boys or the woman in question. "I suggest you remove your filth from my sight, Mr. Weasley. You reek of fertilizer. No wonder considering the botch job you've made of your project."

She glared in disgust at their retreating backs.

Hermione Granger was far above their lot.

OoOoOoOoO

Severus knelt in the alcove, his head down on the altar. A single candle burned. It was no wonder who it was for.

Dumbledore had been incensed. When the Board for the Season Scholarship Lottery had arrived, he had thought they were joking. Then Narcissa had given him a subpoena for certain documentation: copies of birth records, grade transcripts, behavioral reports, financial records, and individual teacher evaluations were all required, as well as letters of recommendation from at least one teacher, preferably a Head of House or a counselor (Albus hadn't bothered telling them that he'd been rid of the mentoring program years ago). But he smiled and twinkled, and Severus was called in to witness him signing permission for the SSL Board to come and go as they pleased for various reasons.

When they left, Albus had destroyed his office, reconstructed it, and destroyed it again.

The teachers were called in, and the situation explained. Pomona, predictably, was happy because it was a chance to gush about her students. Few knew it, but she had been married. After giving birth to six still born babies, and losing her husband in an underwater Herbology expedition, her students were her family, and she loved to talk them up to people. Flitwick was neutral, his respect for tradition warring with his Ravenclaw views on frivolity as well as his on-the-edge views about the war and its' contenders. Minerva had scoffed and sneered, puffed up like a hen in molt, saying this and that about Slytherin favoritism. He had remained silent, despite the staff's sideways glances.

Severus and McGonagall had remained after to speak to him. The rest of the staff were sure that it was about putting their house rivalry aside for the good of the students.

Severus knew better.

"I'm sure that you both know the aim of this farce," Dumbledore said sternly, no twinkle in his blue eyes. "Voldemort is trying to bring impressionable young women to his side, brood mares for Dark Magicians. Dazzle them with some pomp and circumstance, and they will do anything for another taste of it."

_Or it could be to bring potentially influential women into contact with powerful people, hoping to gain them advantageous marriages and improve their social and political connections, giving them a better chance for success. Whatever flits your Snitch._

"I can confidently say that he is going to target poor, pretty, Pureblooded girls. Minerva, you know of course, that this means Miss Weasley and Miss Brown."

"Is Miss Granger in no danger?" Severus asked boldly. "She is closer to Potter than Miss Weasley."

"Severus, Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley will more than likely be married within the next year or two. How can he be closer to Miss Granger?" Minerva scoffed. Yes, because she's so damned observant. "Miss Granger doesn't even live in the tower anymore, so he is turning to Miss Weasley more than ever before."

_That doesn't sound orchestrated whatsoever._

"Miss Granger, despite her many talents and qualities, Severus, is no competition for either Miss Brown or Miss Weasley." Dumbledore said, as though explaining something to a slow toddler. "She is neither Pureblooded, nor is she particularly beautiful."

_And that doesn't make me want to throttle you in the least._

Needless to say, it had spiraled downhill from there. Albus had rattled off a few names of girls who already had either money for the Season or were not applicable on other grounds. In all of his anti-blood-supremacy glory, he discredited Halfbloods and Muggleborns, didn't think to include the young men who would be invited, and generally kept his favorites in the danger zone.

In short, he was wrong.

And he would be embarrassing and putting these students in danger by insisting they be permitted to the Lottery and ensuring their scholarships just to make himself seem right.

Hermione Granger, Hermione Jane, was far from applicable, in the old Wizard's eyes.

Severus, on the other hand, was filled with dread. If Hermione was not on Dumbledore's "in danger" list, when she was given a scholarship, as she inevitably would be, then he would make things very hard for her. Harder than he already was. He was already working the girl like a drudge, making her nanny those two imbeciles, putting up with the harassment and the put-downs, doing more coursework than most university students did in a full year, and more.

The Holy Mother and her husband Joseph knelt together in prayer over him. Severus watched as Joseph kissed his wife's head, and she held both of his hands in hers. Joseph's faith, and his love for his wife, had overcome so much. Would that he and…he and Hermione could be like that one day soon.

Hermione knocked on the wall of the alcove.

"May I join you for a moment?" Hermione asked.

"Of course," he replied. "Narcissa told me what they did in Herbology. Does that happen more often than I see?"

"It's been worse this year than ever, I think. They've realized I'm not their bookish little know-it-all, and they don't like it when others can take my attention away. It was like this when I first became prefect, but they got used to it quicker. Now I'm Head Girl. I think they were expecting to get away with more."

"Dunderheads," He said. His mouth twitched as she giggled.

"I'm about to go to the Slytherin Common Room," she said. He nodded, suspecting as much.

"Give Cissy my love, will you?"

"I will," Hermione said. Then shyly, "What are we?"

"You and me?" He asked. "I...After you meet with Narcissa, I would like to talk to you…about that."

Hermione briefly wondered if she should be scared of that, but a light flush covered his cheeks and nose, so she put her fear of rejection away from her and walked closer to him. Leaning down she kissed the top of his head. "Will you light a candle for me?"

"It's already burning," he said.

"And will you walk with me in Hogsmeade tomorrow?"

Severus boldly leaned forward and kissed her throat.

With a nod to the saints, and an affectionate squeeze on his shoulder, Hermione left for the Slytherin Common Room.

Severus looked at them. "Please, look after her."

OoOoOoOoO

Hermione had felt out of place all day in her more formal school attire, but when she entered the Slytherin Common Room, she felt better. Most of the girls were wearing altered uniforms similar to hers, and Lady Malfoy and a few more women, including Lady Greengrass, were wearing hooped skirts. _Basque wasn't kidding_.

Hermione knew, of course, that Pansy, Daphne, and Astoria would be in attendance. Likewise, she wasn't surprised to see Tracy Davis or Millicent Bludstrode. Hannah Abbot, to Hermione's surprise was actually talking quite amiably to Millicent, and Susan Bones was right along with her. Eleanor Myer, a Ravenclaw even more reclusive than Hermione, curled up in a chair, content with her needle.

Hermione noticed that a lot of the girls were doing some kind of work with their hands. Some were doing embroidery, some were crocheting or tatting, and still some were cutting cloth and drawing patterns. Hermione smiled. She loved to do such things, but rarely had time anymore, and she had never attempted to do so in Gryffindor Tower after Ron had teased her so badly that one time. Honestly, his mother knit, it wasn't as though she was doing something foreign and inherently Muggle.

"Are you surprised, Hermione?" A dreamy voice said behind her.

"Luna? Oh, good, I know someone!" Luna and Hermione were not close, per say, but Hermione hoped to change that. She would like more girlfriends.

"I think I'm the last one to get here. This isn't the whole lottery, of course, but it's the ones that matter."

"Doesn't everyone matter?" Hermione asked, confused.

"You'll understand in a bit." Luna smiled and danced her way to embrace Lady Malfoy, who laughed and showed her off like a new doll.

"Poppet," Hermione called.

"Poppet is happy to serve, Head Girl," Poppet smiled as she blinked into being.

"Please go fetch my sewing box and have Basque bring me the standing embroidery hoop by my bed."

"It shall be done, Mistress," Poppet swore, and she winked out of existence.

"I'm pleased to see you here, Hermione," Daphne said as she came up to the girl who was quickly becoming her friend. "Please, come sit with us."

"Just a moment, Poppet is fetching my sewing."

"Oh, you sew?" Daphne smiled. "I was going to offer to teach you if you didn't know. It's something we enjoy doing together. You ought to see Luna's needlework. She's an artist."

Poppet and Basque appeared and immediately set up Hermione's standing hoop. Millicent and Hannah, who were sitting nearby, cooed over her work. Hermione blushed as she took her seat. She was working on a christening gown for Fleur and Bill's baby, who would be due in July. The silky ivory material was hemmed with gold lace. The short empire bodice was carefully detailed with tiny _fleur de lise _crosses, again in gold, and she had plans for the gauzy over skirt and short sleeves to be hemmed with a similar pattern.

"Such detailed work, Hermione," Hannah cooed. "Is it for your hope chest?"

"Oh, no," Hermione smiled. "I don't have one. This is for some friends who are expecting a baby."

Every woman in the room stared.

"But you must have a hope chest!" Pansy blurted finally. "What will you take with you when you get married?"

Hermione blushed and looked down. "Before now, it wasn't something I had to worry about."

"It's alright, dear," Olivia Greengrass smiled. "That's what this meeting is about. How long have you been working on this?"

"Oh, since last week. They made the announcement over break and I hadn't a chance to work on it until recently."

"Well, you work quick! That would take me a month, at least, to get as far as you!"

"Her hope chest will be filled in no time."

"Have you considered gold tatting along the hems?"

Conversation flew back and forth like that for a while. Hermione noticed the adult women, who she had titled "the Mothers" standing off to the side, nodding and smiling, and looking generally pleased. Before she could ponder it further, Astoria had pulled out several first years' samplers and asked for her help in untangling their threads, chattering fondly about their first works.

"She'll do Severus well, don't you think?" Olivia smiled. "It's no wonder he's taken with her."

"I had my doubts when I heard she was Muggleborn," Eugenie Goyle said, "not because of her blood, mind you, but because I was afraid she would be enamored by the Headmaster. But I see now that her heart is too hopeful for that."

"Severus said something was odd about the prayer he overheard." Narcissa smirked. "He was eavesdropping, of course. He admitted it right out. He says that prayers are the best way to know a person. If they are true, they dare not lie to God. But still," she was serious again. "She asked Him to make her parents proud of her someday, and said that her parents' business was important to them. Her tone apparently implied that they value their work more than their daughter."

"Poor girl," Olivia sighed. Neglect was worse than abuse in many cases. Abuse was some kind of attention. Neglect was difficult for a child. "Has there been any evidence of something untoward at home?"

"If ever there were, would the Headmaster allow Severus to know of it?" Narcissa snorted. "You remember the trouble he had to go through just to get our man Harvey to go into summer training as a footman when he found out what his father was putting him through. How far do you think that old goat would go to keep his token Muggleborn in good light?"

"And we all know how Severus reacts to neglect and abuse."

"She's a rather beautiful girl," Naomi Greengrass agreed. Her husband was Nikolas, Harold's younger brother. Naomi was coincidentally Olivia's cousin. Their children were still too young for Hogwarts. "Severus may have more competition than he bargained for."

"Hm, we'll wait and see how they act at Hogsmeade tomorrow." Narcissa conceded. She was rather protective of her honorary baby brother, and she didn't want Hermione, sweet and mild though she seemed, to hurt him.

After a while the Mothers asked the girls to leave their needles and come pray with them before they had their discussion. They all kneeled together, and Daphne's mother lead them through the Joyful Mysteries as each girl said a single Hail Mary in the decade. Hermione liked this, praying with others. It made her feel more connected, not alone. If she stumbled, there were others to help her up. Gryffindor had not always been so reliable, despite their house-centric unity.

At the end of the Rosary, Lady Malfoy asked a blessing on each of the girls in the room, asked for patience and understanding from and for the girls who were not in the select group, and that the Lottery serve its purpose in bringing them happiness.

"A few of you may be wondering why you are here, when this is clearly not the whole Lottery. Actually, of the ten girls in this room, only four of you will be in the Lottery, as the rest of you have funds set aside. But we are not here to talk about money. We are here to talk about potential."

"You all have talents and qualities that make you stand out as debutantes," Lady Goyle said. "You are noted not only for your outer beauty, but more importantly, for your inner beauty. You have all matured into graceful, caring, _forgiving_ women, and those are qualities that our society needs in women that they will one day look up to. They are qualities that the men of our world, the ones who are being forced to fight, no matter on which side they are, need in the women who support them."

"Will you fight to reach your potential to help them? To help our world?" Olivia asked.

"I will," each girl intoned.

"Good," Narcissa smiled. "Let's get to work. Tomorrow is Hogsmeade weekend, and we've a lot to do. We need to know everything. That is the whole purpose of the Hogsmeade trip tomorrow. This may well be your last opportunity to prepare yourselves before the lottery really begins. We're here to help you , but some of you are going to be pulled away from us at every moment. So let's get started shall we?"

"I think this calls for tea," Eugenie signed. "It's going to be a long night."


End file.
